Lord of the Cogs
by Eric Crow
Summary: Tom Baggins must leave his home in the Shire to travel across the Great Hunting Ground and destroy the Tin Book in Mount Doom, ending the Ancient AI S.A.U.R.O.N.'s terrible reign. Braving Stalkers, wizards, Nazgül and the Green Storm along the way, Tom must question his loyalties and competence as the hero in the final chapter of an ages-long struggle from the days of the Ancients.
1. An Unexpected Stalker

**Author's note:** Apologies to those of you who think this story is too much like Lord of the Rings. You're right. Chapter Four is enormous, I promise you, and deviates wildly from the original storyline. Nothing after Chapter Three much resembles anything in either series.

This fanfiction only really gets going after Chapter Four, so I promise you it gets better as you struggle through Chapters 1-3. (Or you could edit it and I could _make_ it better! Best scenario!) If you still don't like it after Chapter Four, give up.

None of the characters or locations in the story are mine, and I hold both Philip Reeve and J.R.R. Tolkien in awe for publishing original stories like I didn't.

This is my first story and I _guarantee _there are enormous flaws. I've probably missed them, so reviews are very appreciated. (I know, every story tells you to review it. Sowwy.)

This story is dedicated to Alana, who gave me the idea in the first place. I'm sure she never meant for me to go ahead and write the story. Any thanks should go to her.

**Chapter One: An Unexpected Stalker**

It was a muggy, blustery day in the second week of September when the Stalker Gandalf came to town.  
The children saw him first – they always did – and the old wizard listened to their yells with the nearest thing a Stalker can get to a smile on his lips. Though it didn't last long. Dark things were stirring as of late, Old-Tech that should have been long since buried was rising, and the Elves of Mirkwood had reported an evil presence in the tower of Dol Gudur.

So they had taken a couple of blimps and bombed it.

That took care of that, at least.

The weather was lazily clinging to summer, no bite yet in the air and the leaves still green. Hobbiton-in-Vineland lay before Gandalf and his bug like a god's building blocks. It had once been a quaint little town, but the storm of Progress reaches everywhere, and while the hobbits hadn't quite up and Tractionized, the Shire wasn't what it used to be.  
Gandalf's tattered little bug passed a mess of scaffolding and hammers, where Ted Sandyman's old mill was being converted into a sweatshop. Over a little covered bridge and past the Hobbiterium, where the leaders of Hobbiton did who-knows-what, then past a steam-powered forge and Gandalf was coming up to Bag-End.

All of Hobbiton was concerned with Bilbo's party and not much else, but Gandalf's mind was pondering further, darker things as he swung open the gate marked No Admittance (except on Party Business) and as he rapped on the door with his staff. The presence in Mordor would soon be revealed as some minor rogue Ancient AI, and the One Book had been lost for centuries and couldn't possibly have anything to do with the Baggins.  
Right?

Bilbo Baggins heard the pounding at the door and screamed in the general direction of the sound, "No, thank you! We don't want any visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"  
From outside the door, a familiar voice boomed, "And what about very old friends?"  
Bilbo hastily bundled up his typewriter, rushing down the rounded halls of Bag-End and throwing open the door to find himself staring into a pair of twinkling green orbs beneath a wide-brimmed gray hat.

"Gandalf?" Bilbo whispered in a choked voice.  
"I'm sorry?" the Stalker said in a kindly voice. "Hello, I'm here to ask you about your religion."  
"Gandalf!"  
"Bilbo Baggins," said the old wizard, sweeping Bilbo up into an iron embrace, and then in an undertone, "You haven't aged a day."  
But Bilbo laughed, too delighted to see Gandalf again than let little matters like seeming immortality come between them. "Come in, come in! Welcome, welcome!"  
And the Stalker followed Bilbo into Bag-End and relative peace as, outside the Shire and past the Great Hunting Ground, over the Mountains of Shadow and in the land of Mordor, something evil was stirring.


	2. Of Hobbits and Firecrackers

**Author's Note:** I realize Hobbit Day is a real-world event. We'll say...the tradition was carried on by LOTR fans through the Downsizing and Sixty Minute War to the Traction Era, where it flourished and developed into a popular event in the Shire.

It's kind of meta, when you think about it.

**Chapter Two: Of Hobbits and Firecrackers**

For those few unfamiliarized with the Shire, a few statistics in height:  
Stalkers are, on average, around seven feet tall.  
Hobbits are, on average, around four feet tall.  
When a Stalker enters a hobbit-hole, this causes...problems.

The Stalker Gandalf cursed as he bumped his head for the umpteenth time on Bag-End's vaulted wooden ceiling. Yes, other cultures built immensely high ceilings, and yes, that was a sorry waste of resources, but...did the hobbits have to make everything so small?  
"Tea, Gandalf?" Bilbo called from somewhere deeper within the sprawling bungalow. "Maybe something a bit stronger? You've caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid...we've only got cold chicken..."  
Gandalf straightened up to remind Bilbo that Stalkers don't eat and smashed his iron-plated dreadlocks on the ceiling. Stalkers couldn't be injured by a few bumps on the head, but they could certainly be annoyed.  
Somewhere at the back of the house, a door opened and closed.

"I'm ho-ome!"  
Tom Baggins bounced through the door, throwing his Apprentice Historian's robes over the back of a chair.  
"Sorry I'm late, Bilbo – I had to dust the 24th-century gallery twice over...a couple of Apprentice Engineers managed to get the city's old engines up and running." He grinned. "The professors were running around screaming something about Arkang-Gandalf!"  
"The Historians were screaming something about me? I should like to know," Gandalf murmured in his dune-grass voice, lowering himself into an armchair and rubbing his head.

The night sky was suddenly broken by a screaming pinwheel of light, morphing for a second into an enormous Traction City grinding its way across the heavens before bursting apart into a shower of colour that illuminated the party below.

It was September 22nd, both Bilbo and Tom's birthday - as well as being Hobbit Day - as well as being the Moon Festival for that year - as well as marking the historic 16th anniversary of Hobbiton's escape from Arkangel and journey to Vineland. For the hobbits, who didn't care that much about Moon Festivals or historically significant dates, it was simply an excuse to throw a party.

Another firework lit up two figures straggling away from the centre of the party and towards a small tent, voices carrying on the windless air.  
"There. Take that one."  
"No, the big one there!"  
Two silhouettes hurried away from the tent with an enormous twisting firecracker.

"And then the stalker said to Balin, "VERY WELL. I WILL LET BILBO LIVE...BUT NOW...YOU MUST DIE." And from its hands came blades, snick, snick, snick."  
There were gasps from the collected children.  
"What happened then, Bilbo?"  
"What happened then? I picked up Mungo's sword – I had this foolhardy notion to sneak up on the thing from behind – when it turned around and ran at me!"  
A small hobbit covered her eyes in fright.  
"And then – just as it was about to kill me with its horrible claws – the sun came up and it was turned to stone!"  
The ending of Bilbo's story was suddenly punctuated by a loud clap and a scream that went trailing somewhere over the pond. An enormous glowing Fox Spirit, slightly squished from the weight of the hobbit it had propelled into the air, faded weakly away.  
They found Meriadoc Brandybuck splayed cross-eagle in the middle of the pond with his eyebrows bunt off, mumbling something about no more dishes. Party guests had to be recruited to haul Merry out of the water.

In all the commotion, it was several hours before anyone noticed that a rather flustered Bilbo Baggins had taken a small metal-bound book out of his vest, opened it, and vanished into thin air.


	3. Bilbo's Book

**Chapter Three: Bilbo's Book**

"He's gone, hasn't he?"  
From where he stood near the fireplace, Gandalf inclined his great iron head. "Bilbo's gone to visit the elves. He's left you everything, you know."  
"But..why would Bilbo do that?" asked Tom, shutting the round green door behind him.  
Gandalf sighed. "Bilbo's been restless as of late. Trapped, you could say. He's gone away to be rid of his distractions."  
"And I'm a distraction to him."  
"No! Bilbo...Bilbo may be trying to save himself, but he looks to you as his son, Tom. Whatever else happens...I'm sure he's trying to do what's best for you."  
"I...Isn't this Bilbo's book?"  
The book in question lay on the floor with its back cover bent under it, the fire reflecting off its dented metal surface, spine bound with a coil of wire. Tom couldn't see anything about it that would make it special.  
And yet Bilbo had carried it around with him nearly every day of his unnatural life...  
"The book is yours too, Tom. As I said. Bilbo left you everything."  
The hobbit bent and picked the book up. "Gandalf? Do you have any idea what made the book so special? I mean, Bilbo guarded it with his life, just about..." He began to lift the cover.  
And was blown backwards by a howling gust of wind.  
"NO, Tom!" cried Gandalf, suddenly far taller than even his normal looming Stalker height. "It's not safe."  
"Wha...what do you mean?" asked Tom, struggling up from the floor.  
Gandalf held out a metal claw and pulled Tom up. "That book might...not be safe. Don't open it, I beg you. Put it away somewhere safe. When I come back, I hope I'll be able to tell you that it's nothing of any importance, simply your uncle's diary...but until that day comes, Tom, Don't. Read. The. Book."

…  
Where do I put it, then?" cried Tom.  
"Bury it in the backyard," said Gandalf.  
Then he was gone.  
Tom collapsed in the armchair in front of the fire, trying to make sense of what had happened.  
He glanced down to find he was stroking the book hypnotically and tossed it aside.

Sinking into the chair, lost in reverie, Tom stared at the fire reflecting off the book's metal cover for what only seemed like minutes – glancing up at the clock on the mantelpiece, he found the party had long since ended. A scuffling noise began outside the window.  
"Sam?"  
The cheerful face of Bag-End's gardener popped up in the pane. "Yes, Mr. Baggins? I'm just headin' out."  
"That's fine, I just wanted to ask you–" Tom crossed to in front of the fireplace and picked up the metal book. "When you and your father were ever working here...did Bilbo ever tell you what he used this book for?"  
Sam scratched his head. "I don't rightly know, sir...He carried it everywhere he went, though!" he exclaimed, brightening up. "That's a bit strange, innit? You could open it up, check what he wrote. I caught Gandalf on the way out and thought if he left you it, he must not mind if you read it."  
"Thank you, Sam. Perhaps I will." Tom gently placed the book down on the seat. "Good night."  
A cheery "Good night, sir!" came from the window, but Tom was still staring at the book. He finally grabbed it and stuffed it in a chest under his bed.  
Perhaps it would be safe there. Though he had never read a page, he had to confess that it was becoming very...  
precious...  
to him.


	4. An Era of Shadow

**Author's Note:** The story's been pretty ubiquitous and mundane up to this point. Sorry. Hope this makes it better.

**Chapter Four: An Era of Shadow  
**It seemed at first as if Gandalf would come back any day. Tom began to make a habit of peering down Bagshot Lane every day before he went to the Hobbiton Museum as if any moment Gandalf might ride down the road in his dilapidated little bug, full of reassurances about Bilbo's old metal book.  
And yet fall gave way to winter, which melted into spring, and there was still no sign of the old Stalker.  
Tom had not opened the book, though he had begun to take to carrying it with him everywhere.

And it was the end of summer, and Gandalf had still not appeared, and Tom found himself sitting in the same armchair as he had used on that fateful night nearly a year ago, with Bilbo's book in front of him.  
The clock chimed, one harsh note, and Tom jumped. Had he really been sitting there that long? And then he seemed to hear the book echoing the clock's note, only this time it was beautiful, and Tom found himself caught up in a melody as the book shimmered and caught the light of the fire.  
Gandalf won't know if I open the book, he thought, and the melody around him seemed to swell and harmonize. Just the once...I only want to look at one page...

Tom opened the cover of the book.

•••

It was raining outside in great sheets of water, a storm so massive that individual raindrops could not be discerned, but instead melded together in a solid, crashing, drowning wall.  
Lightning screamed overhead, illuminating the quivering party tree and a broken-down bug as Gandalf galloped up Bagshot Lane.  
There was still a light on in Bag-End, and Gandalf realized what Tom was about to do and called out to him.  
A deafening roar of thunder drove away all his warnings.

And then Gandalf felt that familiar wrenching surge of power, and he knew Tom had done it, he'd opened the book, and that all his fears were confirmed.  
For it truly was the Tin Book, the lost artifact from the Old World that controlled the orbital weapons platforms, and that the rising AI in the East was not a haywire Gondor program, it was SAURON itself – they'd never truly killed it, only put it to sleep, and if it was still sleeping at all that book would surely wake it.

And then Gandalf felt other beings who were aware of the surge of power let off by the opening of the Tin Book.  
If Stalkers could still sense ordinary human emotions, there would have been shivers running down his spine.

It was them. SAURON's servants. His most trusted emissaries, who had all been supposedly destroyed in the bloody campaign during the years after the Sixty Minute War.  
The Riders were back. And they were hunting for Tom.

Lightning spiralled down from the sky, hitting the top of the partly-finished sweatshop's scaffolding with a smell of burning and an ear-splitting crash. The roof began to burn, illuminating Gandalf jerking his bug into a gallop towards Bag-End.  
And in the flickering light, more creatures came running behind him, impossibly thin, in black cloaks that hid their faces. As one they flexed their hands, blades sliding out.  
"BAGGINS," they whispered. "SHIRE."

•••

Thunder rumbled outside as Tom opened the book, not quite knowing what to expect. The tin spiral binding creaked with age as he opened it, and Tom had to jerk the page savagely for it to open flat.  
Tiny printed letters and diagrams covered the pages, and Tom stared. There was a detailed cut-away view of a Stalker's head, and hypothetical designs for a lighter-than-air flying machine. Then he bent down to read the text.  
'..hypothetical designs for a lighter-than-air flying machine. Then he bent down to read the text.'  
Tom started. Then he glanced down again.  
The next line, which he was sure said something different before, suddenly read, 'Tom started, then glanced down again. The next line, which he was sure said something different before..'  
Tom broke out into a cold sweat.  
One line seemed to be bolded, separating from the others. Tom could swear it was growing on the page. He peered at it.  
"**Gandalf is coming.**"

Tom's heart raced. The music, melodious up to this point, suddenly had a wrong note. Then another. The melody suddenly fell upon him discordant, and he would have closed the book if not for the last series of drawings.  
A beautifully detailed map of Middle-Earth stretched from the limpet-yards of the Gray Havens to the solitary Iron Hills. Angmar was there, and further down Tom could see the Shire give way to the anti-traction stronghold of Isengard and the Great Hunting Grounds beyond that, the great Traction City of Minas Tirith depicted rumbling across its usual domain...  
And Tom looked longer at the map, and his eye was drawn past the White City, past the burning hulk of Osgiliath, and to the east of that the land heaved itself up into burning mountains surrounding the Black Land.

A picture below the map. Tom followed the detailed drawing of the tower up, his eyes racing over turrets and smokestacks and walls of black stone, and at the top –  
Coils of wire and tubing looped around crenellations. They climbed a mess of scaffolding and hydraulic supports, and attached to the back of an enormous ring of steel, and in the centre of the ring was an Eye.  
There was a tiny picture in the margins that Tom was sure hadn't been there before, an image of the Eye from far away, and a few scribbled words.  
**I see you.**  
And Tom knew that if he turned the page, there would be no more writing and maps, just an enormous full-page illustration of the Eye staring at him, and all would be lost.  
Already he could feel the presence of the Eye sensing him, searching, always searching –  
A boom of thunder shook the house and Tom dropped the book on the ground and stumbled back, sobbing.

The book lay on the ground, safely closed.  
And then lightning illuminated a sudden flash of movement in the front yard.  
Grabbing the book and tucking it protectively in his coat, Tom edged closer to the window.

Another flash of lightning showed him skeletal figures in sodden black cloaks moving across the yard. The light played off the long metal blades that served as their fingers.

One glanced up, and Tom found himself locking eyes with its glowing green orbs. As one, the creatures straightened up and strode towards the window.  
"SHIRE. BAGGINS."  
Thunder boomed outside, and Tom let out a bark of fear and frantically tried to close the window latch.

A head looked in the window, obscured by a sodden black cloak except for the green glow of its eyes. It slipped one blade in between the window panes, then twisted its hand sharply and broke the latch. The window swung wide open, blown by the storm's howling wind.

The creature stepped inside, more waiting just outside the window.

"ARE YOU BAGGINS?" the creature grated in a horrible saw-on-metal voice. Tom pressed himself further into the corner.  
The creature stepped closer. "ARE YOU BAGGINS? OF THE SHIRE?"

Lightning crashed and thunder boomed and Gandalf swung down from his bug and sprinted for the enormous round green door-

"ARE YOU BAGGINS? OF THE SHIRE?"  
The creature loomed closer with a swish of its robes, looking impatient.

There was a moment, silent but for the thunder and lashing rain, as Tom processed the question.

"W-what? I mean, er..."  
The creatures moved closer.  
"No! No, I'm not! Mr. Baggins isn't here! He...he moved! To Crickhollow!"  
As one, the creatures stared at him.  
Tom pulled his waistcoat defensively around himself. "I don't know who you're talking about, or who you are, or why you've broken into my house in the middle of the night. My name's Mr. ..Underhill, and I'll ask you five to leave now."  
Five pairs of green eyes stared at him.  
Tom almost stumbled over his waistcoast. "Y-yes! Leave now and..never come back!"  
A creature moved closer. "HE LIES," it grated. "I CAN SENSE HIS FEAR. THIS ONE IS BAGGINS."  
"BAGGINS," the creatures chorused, stepping even closer.  
Tom pressed himself even tighter into the corner. "W-who are you? Leave me alone!"  
The creature in front grinned, ghost light from the lightning illuminating slimy lips and sharp iron teeth. Tom realized quite suddenly that the creature was dead.  
"OUR MASTER WISHES TO MEET YOU," the Stalker said. "IT IS AN HONOUR."  
"Who is your master?" Tom asked cautiously, dreading the answer.  
The creatures stretched out their claws to grab him. Thunder boomed.  
"S.A.U.R.O.N.!"

And suddenly there was a flash of light at the window, brighter than any bolt of lightning, and it steadily grew in brightness until Tom had to shield his eyes. The Stalkers had somehow caught fire, and they milled about shrieking in a horrible ear-piercing voice.  
The window shattered and was blown off its hinges, and a figure came out of the light, and the Stalkers fled from it.  
"BEGONE!" bellowed Gandalf, wielding his shining staff, and the Stalkers uttered one final, desperate cry and ran from the light into the recesses of Bag-End.  
The wizard extinguished his staff, and Tom barely had time to open his mouth before the wizard scooped him up in one hand and the Tin Book in the other and vaulted out the shattered, smoking thing that was once a window.  
A wind was roaring through the Shire, and the cold rain still fell in droves. The Sandyman's sweatshop was burning, and Tom watched as if in a dream as the roof collapsed and ripped through a layer of scaffolding to smash in burning sparks on the ground below.  
"What's going on?!" screamed Tom over the rolling thunder.  
Lightning coldly shone on Gandalf's faceplate, and Tom could clearly see the patches of rust and dents, bullet holes and sawed-off tentacles. The Stalker suddenly looked very old.  
"Mordor," came the whispered reply, and then Gandalf swung him into the back of the shabby old bug and swung himself into the front, and they galloped down Bagshot Row and out of the Shire as the sweatshop burned and Bag-End smoked behind them, and a new age of shadow began for Middle-Earth.

•••

Thunder was booming in what the Gaffer said was the worst storm of the century, but Sam had never really minded storms. The driving rain fell cool upon his face as he rounded the bend towards Bag-End to pick up the tools he'd forgotten.  
The hobbit-hole looked strangely eerie and broken in the storm and at this hour of the night, Sam thought. His tools were lying there in the field, soaked and muddied from rain, but...  
The great window in the front of Bag-End was lying in slivers of glass thrown throughout the living room. Rain pounded on the blackened, crumbling windowframe, sending up clouds of steam.  
A cold shiver went down Sam's spine. He turned.  
An enormous shape slowly rose from the bush behind him.  
Baleful green eyes stared down at him from below a crown of spikes. The dead lips opened and moved.  
"WHERE IS BAGGINS?"  
Sam involuntarily moved back a step. "What do you want with my master?" he tried to shout over the storm.  
"BAGGINS IS GONE WITH THE WIZARD. BUT...YOU KNOW THEM. YOU CAN FIND THEM."  
Thunder boomed. Four more shapes arose from the yard, glowing green eyes reflecting off finger-glaives.  
"YOU WILL FIND BAGGINS," the first creature said. "AND THEN WE WILL TAKE HIM...TO _MORDOR_."


	5. ODIN

**Author's Note:** Sorry for wrecking Molecular Clockwork for everybody. I just felt like making it gruesome.

**Chapter Five: O.D.I.N.  
**Dawn broke slowly over the wilderness of Arnor, shadows disappearing before the soft grey light. A pot swung slowly back and forth on the side of the bug's cramped back room.  
It was almost enough, thought Tom as he stared at the ceiling, to forget last night.  
Then he shifted his gaze to the floor, where the strange metal book lay. No...it had happened, all right. Bag-End was partially destroyed, the metal book was incredibly dangerous..and there was some kind of battle-Stalker hunting him.

Tom scrambled to his feet and yanked open the hatch in the ceiling of the room. Gandalf sat at the front of the bug. He probably hadn't budged an inch since he sat down in the pilot's seat.  
"Will you tell me where we're going?" Tom called out to him.  
"No."  
"Why?"  
"If I told you, you might try to run back to the Shire."  
Tom thought about this for a while. "Will it take us a while to get there?"  
"Yes."  
"Are we going there right now?"  
"No."  
"Where are we going right now?"  
"You'll see."  
Tom sighed and slammed the hatch.

•••

Deep in the Old Forest, a strange procession wound its way through valleys and around trees. Five cloaked figures rode on skeletal bugs through the leaves. The lead rider, bigger than the others and with a crown of metal spikes, had a hobbit perched behind him, looking decidedly unhappy.  
The bug's foot touched the ground, and all the plants near it withered and died.  
"How does it do that? Kill all the plants, I mean?" wondered Sam.  
The crowned Stalker turned to look at him. "WE, AS WELL AS THE BUG, ARE POWERED BY MOLECULAR CLOCKWORK. THE PLANT'S ENERGY IS TRANSFERRED TO THE BUG'S MOTORS, AND THE PLANT DIES."  
"T-that really doesn't make any sense..."  
"WHEN WE BRING YOU TO S.A.U.R.O.N., PERHAPS YOU CAN ASK HIM THEN."  
"But he's dead! The thing was hit by Slow Bombs in the Sixty Minute War when it went rogue!"  
"AND IF WE TOLD YOU THERE WAS A SECOND, HIDDEN, COMPUTER CORE?"  
"..That would change things."  
They rode in silence for a while.  
"What does S.A.U.R.O.N. want with Mister Baggins, anyways?"  
"DO YOU KNOW THE STORY OF THE TIN BOOK?"  
Sam shook his head.  
As one, the group turned and headed into a clearing, where a few stars still stood out against the coming dawn.  
"LOOK."  
Sam followed the Stalker's finger to a low, bright star.  
The Stalker spoke in a hushed, almost reverent, whisper. "THAT IS O.D.I.N., LAST OF THE ANCIENT ORBITAL WEAPONS PLATFORMS."  
And the Stalker told Sam the story.

It was the first of its kind, a new form of solar magnification weapon. Rushed into production by Greater America, it was called into action for the Sixty Minute War and control was transferred to the American's great computer-brain...S.A.U.R.O.N.  
The Self-Administrating Reconnaissance and Offensive Network was the West's greatest military achievement and best hope. It rained down fire upon Indo-China, and the war seemed won...until forty minutes into the war, a Slow Bomb from the Barefoot States, almost a year ahead of schedule, ploughed through the atmosphere and crushed S.A.U.R.O.N.'s control centre. America was bombarded by high-energy weapons and nuclear strikes, only having time to manually fire all its remaining weapons at Indo-China before being utterly obliterated.

Deep in its underground bunker, where no energy weapons or Slow Bombs could reach it, S.A.U.R.O.N. slept. It took decades to call its mobile repair units to find it and bring it from its prison, and centuries more to reconnect to its broken, ancient satellite network.  
It awoke to a very different world. Gone were the cloud-cities and energy mines of the Ancient empires. The orbital platforms were all destroyed or defunct save O.D.I.N., and only S.A.U.R.O.N. had the access codes for that.

But as the A.I. re-established itself, it became aware of a rumor..far too dangerous, if true, to ignore...

"So this Tin Book – Bilbo's book – is a replica of something from the Sixty Minute War? And it holds the codes to O.D.I.N.?"  
"IF THE LEGEND IS TRUE, IT ALSO HOLDS MEMORY LOGS FOR S.A.U.R.O.N. AND A DIRECT COGNITIVE INTERFACE WITH THE USER," grated the Stalker. "AS WELL AS UPDATED SATELLITE MAPS AND DIAGRAMS FROM THE ANCIENTS WHO BUILT US."  
"Built you?"  
"WE ARE S.A.U.R.O.N.'S MOBILE REPAIR UNITS. WE DUG HIM OUT OF THE BUNKER WHERE HE WAS IMPRISONED."  
For an emotionless machine, the Stalker sounded awfully smug.  
"So..you think Mister Baggins has the Tin Book, and you're getting me to find him for you, then you're going to bring the two of us and the Tin Book to Mordor?"  
"THAT IS CORRECT."  
"What'll happen then?"  
"WE DO NOT KNOW. S.A.U.R.O.N. WILL DECIDE."  
Sam grumbled something against the merits of Stalkers. The sun rose above the trees to shine on the trail of dead plants left by the Stalkers in search of Tom.

•••

The sun had only shone for a day before the sky filled with grey clouds again and began to drizzle.  
"Are we at least close to where we're going now?" yelled Tom from the bug's hatch, brandishing an umbrella above his head.  
"You'll see." Gandalf's hat had sagged down and plastered against his head, little rivulets of water running down the dull metal armor.  
The hatch slammed.

The rain eventually abated, to be replaced with a cold grey mist.  
"Why won't you tell me where we're going? It can't be as bad as the final destination, can it?"  
"If I told you where we were going now, you might guess where we're going eventually. Besides. I like surprises."  
Slam.  
"You'll find out soon enough," added Gandalf, a half second too late.

Tom woke on the fourth day of their trip to find that they had stopped. Bright sunlight shone down from the open hatch above him.  
"We're here," was all Gandalf said as Tom clambered out of the bug, rubbing his aching muscles.  
They were parked on the crest of a hill, green plains with meandering rivers stretching out as far as the eye could see. There was an odd shadow on some of the fields...Tom looked up.  
Above them...

A great city hung suspended in the air, a huge toroidal shape hung with gasbags and towers. Dirigibles sailed in droves from ports on its edges, and Tom caught glimpses of Snowmad vendors and colorful pennants and baskets ferrying people to and from the valley floor.  
Tom stared.  
"Welcome," said Gandalf, "to Airhaven."


	6. Airhaven

**Author's Note: **Yes, Thaddeus Valentine is different in this fanfic. It'll be explained probably in the next chapter.

**Chapter 6: Airhaven**

The basket pilot grinned and tipped his greasy hat as Gandalf dumped a handful of coins into his fingerless gloves for their ride up. The sounds and smells that had seemed so appealing on the valley floor crashed and boiled into a discordant melange of sizzling aromas from roadside bars and bugs full of dirigible fuel lumbering through the streets, street musicians competing with the cries of Snowmad traders hawking jars of Stalker eyes.

Elves flowed through the crowded streets, pasty skin and bald heads standing out from the surrounding Dwarves and Men. The true masters of Airhaven, they travelled in their inbred merchant families, surveying their shops with an aura of power and a swirl of brightly coloured cloaks. The huge crowds parted as the Elves strolled through, silent, and seagulls and angels came swooping in behind them to pick at the tourists' food.  
"So now that we're here, will you at least tell me why?" asked Tom, struggling through the crowd.  
"We're here for Valentine," Gandalf replied somewhere in front of him.  
"..A valentine? Wh-"  
"Valentine. Thaddeus Valentine."  
"Oh."  
Being four feet tall, it took all of his concentration to navigate the crowds for a while.  
"So..why are we looking for Valentine? Is he supposed to help for-" Tom stopped in the middle of the street. "Look, I don't even know what I'm doing here. Bilbo disappears, you hand me a book, _things break into my house in the middle of the night_, you _blow_ _up a window_, and now I'm in some godforsaken flying city without knowing _why_?! Can you tell me _nothing_?"  
More than several passerby were staring. Gandalf turned to face him.  
"If I could tell you any more than I have, you know I would have done so, Tom. This journey is not something you can question. For reasons unknown to me.."  
Gandalf dragged Tom along, lowering his voice to foil passing eavesdroppers.  
"For reasons unknown to me, the fate of Middle-Earth may rest upon your shoulders."  
"T..that's from a bunch of Ancient movies."  
Gandalf shrugged. "Perhaps."  
They ducked into a low, dim restaurant that smelled of meat and sweat and smoke. A few tired customers laughed and grumbled in front of a man in a blue coat who danced about on a stage, singing "Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow.." with an old, plagued guitar to keep time.  
Gandaf waded through the waves of conversation and smells and bad music to the front of the bar, Tom towed behind him.  
"Excuse me," said Gandalf to a man slumped at the bar. If Tom peered upwards, he could just make out the back of a tattered, mud-spattered cloak and a mane of black hair silhouetted against the dim ceiling.  
The man turned, and Tom saw that he was old and tired, crease lines marring the smooth lines of his face and grey hair spreading from his temples. There was a kind of wild desperation in his eyes, as if he had chased after something for years only to find it taken by somebody else.  
"Who are you? What do you want from me?" he asked in one breath. His voice was strangely smooth despite his ragged appearance, and Tom thought he had been well-off once.  
"You are Thaddeus Valentine?"  
"Yes. What's it to you?"  
Gandalf's eyes twinkled as they had not since the black-clad Stalkers appeared. "We'd like to offer you a place in an adventure," he drawled in a conspiratorial whisper. Tom looked quizzically at him.  
The man grinned lazily and turned away. "No."  
Gandalf and Tom stared.  
"I'm too old for this, I'm sick of adventuring, and I advise you to find a better line of work before you end up like me. Could you _go_ now, please? I'm trying to finish my drink."  
Gandalf sighed and turned to Tom. "Show him the book."  
Tom opened his coat and drew the strange metal-clad book out.  
Despite the dim light of the restaurant, the book flashed and sparkled in some unseen light. The music from the stage seemed suddenly more melodious, and Tom almost thought he could hear some snatches of the music from that night when he read the book. He shuddered.

Thaddeus Valentine's eyes gleamed with a strange light. He looked at Tom, then back at the book, then finally to Gandalf.  
"What was this about an adventure, again?"

•••

Thaddeus grumbled and squinted up at the sun as they navigated the cacophonous Airhaven streets. "So this kid owns the Tin Book, and you're going to run halfway across the world to get it out of the hands of S.A.U.R.O.N.?"  
"I'm not a kid," muttered Tom. "I'm close to fifty."  
Thaddeus stared.  
"He's a hobbit. They're...different from humans," Gandalf interjected quickly.  
Thaddeus grunted.  
A temple procession came hurtling down the street, worshippers in tall, pointed hats carrying baskets of offerings and chanting the name of an Old-World prophet: "_Hari! Hari! Hari Potter!_" The crowd was pressed against the neighbouring buildings as they passed, then the three were pushed out into the middle of the street again.  
Thaddeus grinned triumphantly, holding up a pair of peaches he had snatched from a worshipper's basket. "Hungry?"  
Gandalf glared at him.  
Thaddeus shrugged and bit into the peach.

•••

It happened the third day of their departure from Hobbiton. The bugs might run forever, but they were only the speed of an Ancient _haurs_, and Gandalf's bug was far ahead of them now.  
The Stalkers were riding through a field, dead eaves of corn dropping with every footfall. It was the early days of October, Sam thought, and the plants were golden and ripening in the low sun except where the bugs had stepped.  
The cornstalks waved and dipped in the faint wind, revealing the head of a familiar scarecrow, and Sam felt a pang of homesickness.  
"I just realized.." he tried to begin.  
The Witch-King of Angmar turned to stare at him. "WHAT IS IT?"  
"I just..I just realized...If I keep riding past that scarecrow, it'll be the furthest away from home I've ever been before."  
Another Stalker turned to look at him. "I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HUMANS," it said.  
They were drawing near to the scarecrow now, and Sam tried to appeal to the Stalkers again. "Could we stop for a bit just before we pass the scarecrow, please? I..I mean, I'm leaving the Shire, and..."  
The Witch-King slowly and deliberately walked his bug to just beyond the scarecrow.  
"NOW YOU ARE THE FURTHEST AWAY FROM HOME THAT YOU HAVE EVER BEEN, IS THAT SO?"  
Sam nodded.  
The Witch-King took another step. "AND NOW YOU ARE EVEN FURTHER THAN THAT. _THIS_ IS THE FURTHEST AWAY FROM HOME YOU HAVE EVER BEEN."  
"HUMANS ARE FOOLISH SOMETIMES," added another Stalker. "EVERY STEP YOU TAKE WILL BRING YOU FURTHER AWAY FROM HOME THAN YOU HAVE EVER BEEN BEFORE. AND THERE WILL BE MORE ROADS TO TRAVEL, AND MORE STEPS TO TAKE, AND YOU WILL ALWAYS, _ALWAYS_, BE FURTHER FROM HOME."  
Sam heard, though he may not have listened. "And what if I _want_ to go home?"  
"THAT YOU CAN ONLY DO AT JOURNEY'S END."  
"Not unless _we_ have something to say about it!"  
Two small figures leapt out of the cornstalks: one in suspenders and a billowing purple cloak, the other with a bandaged head and a basket full of corn, both brandishing table knives and grimacing ferociously.  
"You heard him! Mister Sam wants to go back to the Shire!" growled the figure in purple.  
"We'll..we'll fight you for him!" exclaimed the figure with a bandaged head, holding up his table knife.  
The Stalkers simply stared.  
Sam looked incredulous. "Merry? Pippin?"  
The two figures nodded, puffing out their chests in an effort to look as menacing as possible.  
"I'm not being kidnapped," said Sam, trying to stifle his laughter. "Mister Baggins' disappeared, and me and these.."  
"NAZGÜL."  
"..Me and the Nazgül are going to try and find him."  
Merry and Pippin stared at each other.  
"Oh. Well, in that case.."  
"We'll come with you!"  
Merry and Pippin both jumped onto the back of two Stalker's bugs. The Witch-King looked down at Sam. Sam shrugged.  
"VERY WELL," said the Witch-King, and continued riding.  
"No! _Faster_!" said Pippin.  
The Stalkers turned to look at him.  
"I mean..er, if we're going to find Tom, we'd better go quickly, right? Out of the Shire! Quickly! Chop-chop!"  
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Pippin, did you.."  
Pippin tossed him a cob of corn. "Here! It's good!"

Somewhere behind them in the fields Sam heard the barking of dogs and the angry yells of Farmer Maggot.  
Sam shook his head and put his hand over his eyes.


	7. Soul Receptacles

**Chapter 7: Soul Receptacles**

**Author's Note:** I realize this story is dying because of its limited audience, but...even if you haven't read the Mortal Engines Quartet, reviews are still in desperately low quantities (read: zero.)

Far to the east of the Shire and Airhaven are the mountains that reach the sky. The Blue Mountains, the Misty Mountains, the Mountains of Shadow... These were the marks of the new world. They appeared on no Ancient maps, and a raging debate could be found within select Historian circles of whether the peaks had formed naturally or were created in the Sixty Minute War, a mountain-making cannon from the Barefoot States.

Beyond the Misty Mountains,with its goblins and nightwights, lies a single, solitary peak, reaching on its own towards the top of the world. Once a dragon had lived here; a team of dwarves had tried to best it years ago, had been beaten, and fled only to see a peeved archer from the nearby village kill the thing with one bolt from his crossbow, bringing an end to decades of terror. The mountain's castle was deserted now, the inhabitants fled from the dragon or killed by the goblin invasion the dwarves had brought in their wake. The only things that stirred within the empty mountain were thrushes and sliders and deep, dark skulking things that preferred the company of shadows.

In the passages far below Erebor, in the realm of caves beneath the mountain, muttered sounds floated up from the bitter black recesses.  
"He stoles it from us, Preciousss."  
A narrow hand, pale and dirty and skeletal, reaches out of the darkness and snatches a blind fish.  
"But he didn't kill us." The voice of the creature has changed. "Baggins didn't kill us."  
"But he STOLE the _PRECIOUS_!" Weeping floats up from the blackness of the caves, then gradually subsides. The narrow hand is joined by another one, and together they begin to wrench the fish's head off.  
"He stole it from us."  
The fish flops frantically and gasps for air.  
"We will finds him."  
The fish's skin begins to tear.  
"We will makes the hobbit pay."  
A tear in the neck widens. The fish's tail beats frantically. White meat and unidentifiable fluids and sluggish fish blood begins to show.  
"And we will take back the Precious..."  
The fish's gasping head is torn off.  
"For _ourselves!_"  
The headless body of the fish is raised into the blackness by the arms. A lipless mouth meets it to sink four jagged teeth into the body. The skeletal, wide-eyed creature smiles at the taste of the meat.  
"_Gollum._"

•••

Rain pattered on the roof of their cheap quayside motel. Tom cautiously prodded the bed with Gandalf's staff. Something large and many-jointed scurried from beneath the mattress and disappeared in the shadows of the wall.  
"Isn't there anywhere nicer we could stay?" whined Tom, throwing up clouds of dust as he clubbed the bedsheets with a vengeance.  
Gandalf grabbed his staff back. "Tom, all the better inns in the city have been taken by elves here for Elrond's Council tomorrow. We were lucky to find this."  
"Lucky?" Tom grumbled, spotting the many-legged thing and squashing it with Bilbo's metal book.  
"_Thomas Daur Baggins._" Gandalf was exercising his Wizard Loom again, the ceiling grown dark with flashes of lightning about him. "Are you using S.A.U.R.O.N.'s most terrible weapon to _kill centipedes?!_"  
"Um.." Tom swallowed. "Apparently, yes."  
Then he dropped the book. "It's _whaaat?_"

It was much later in the night, their sputtering oil table lamp the only light left in the inn. "..And so S.A.U.R.O.N. was thought dead after that second half of the Sixty Minute War, but he's just been lying in wait, biding his time," Thaddeus was saying.  
"And he has been looking for his Tin Book ever since." finished Gandalf.

Tom just stared at the two of them.  
"..And Bilbo just happened to find the thing in a cave sixty years ago? And he's been reading it and turning invisible ever since and S.A.U.R.O.N. _never noticed?_"  
"Yep," said Thaddeus. "Pretty much."  
"And...now it's my destiny to take this thing and drop it in a volcano in Mordor."  
"Yes," said Gandalf. "But never fear. I will find a Fellowship to guide and protect you along the way."  
"And most of them are probably going to get lost, or captured, or die along the way, and it'll end up being just me and maybe one other survivor breaking into Mordor ourselves."  
Gandalf and Thaddeus had nothing to say to that.  
"Look, I understand the Book must be destroyed. Great. That's fine. But..one does not simply _walk into Mordor!_ This quest is...I'm a hobbit! From the Shire! Not some...Ancient god of war!"  
Gandalf sighed. "We are not asking you to be a Czach Noross incarnate, Tom. But we need you to carry the Book for us."  
"As it slowly eats away at my soul and turns me into a fish-eating monster."  
"Why fish?" wondered Thaddeus.  
"Valentine." Gandalf turned around. "You're not helping."  
Tom rubbed his eyes, then looked up again. "I'm not saying I won't help destroy the Book. I just think that going to Mordor is a stupid idea. Couldn't we...say...bury the Book in the backyard of the inn?"  
"And what if someone...or something...found it there?"  
Tom paused. "I think an omnipotent, invisible mole is the least of our concerns."  
Thaddeus snickered in the background.  
"Okay. Fine. Burying the book won't work. What about...throwing it in a river? Like the Anduin? It'd wash out to sea and nobody would ever, _ever_ find it."  
"That idea has been put forwards before," said Gandalf hesitantly, "by those who, like you, do not wish to make the journey into Mordor. But there are too many problems with it. Again, what if it was found?"  
"An invisible fish. I don't think we need to worry about that."  
"Thaddeus. This isn't funny."  
"Sorry."  
Gandalf turned back to Tom. "Have you ever heard of a Watcher?"  
Tom shook his head.  
"They were designed," said Gandalf over the sputtering oil lamp, "as a biological weapon by Greater Asia in the years leading up to the Sixty Minute War. Needless to say, they survived the world's end and fled to the oceans. They are enormous. Intelligent. Ruthless. Dozens of long, barbed tentacles as long as this room, affixed to a body with an enormous fanged mouth. They can survive on water as well as land. Can you imagine one of those walking about a Traction City, around the Shire? Cloaked to all but S.A.U.R.O.N.? Left to their own devices?"  
"I...I see," said Tom shakily. "So maybe that wouldn't work-"  
"Even if all the wizards joined and sealed the book, protecting it from Watchers and all other denizens of the sea," Gandalf continued, cutting him off, "it would only guarantee our defeat. S.A.U.R.O.N. has imbued that book with part of his energy and malice – it holds a piece of his soul. Only by destroying that book may S.A.U.R.O.N. die."  
"I...alright..." said Tom. "So the physical presence of S.A.U.R.O.N. has been weakened enough that he'll just die instantly when we smash his Book?"  
"I would have described it differently, but...yes, that is the general idea."  
"It's only possible to split your soul once, then, I'm guessing?"  
Gandalf looked at Tom in surprise. "No. Theoretically..I suppose one could split their soul as many times as they wanted. Why on Earth do you ask?"  
"Just a minute," said Tom. "I need to think about this."  
A minute passed. Then another.  
"S.A.U.R.O.N. is an idiot," said Tom, lifting his head from the table.  
His statement was met by a collective "_**?!**_"

"But just think!" said Tom. "If you've only split your soul _once_, and you've _lost_ your...soul container...is there a better name for that? The thing you keep your soul bit inside?"  
"Most likely," said Gandalf, "but it would only be found in the tomes describing the blackest magic-"  
"It's not really important..anyways..so if you've lost your soul box thing, and you know that you've been weakened enough that you'll probably die if anyone finds the thing and figures out how to smash it...then why, _why_, wouldn't you make another one? Or two? Why not six? And then hide them in caves or secret rooms all across Middle-Earth!"  
"According to your line of reasoning, then," said Gandalf slowly, lighting a pipe, "either S.A.U.R.O.N. is, yes, an idiot..._or he has made other soul receptacles._"  
"Yes," yawned Tom, rubbing his eyes again, "but we can't do much about that right now, can we? With the receptacle we've got..is there anything other than a volcano that can destroy it? A magic sword? Some special venom?"  
"Not that I am aware of," said Gandalf, "but there may be something in the records at Minas Tirith..."  
"Then we're headed to Minas Tirith, aren't we?"  
"Yes. That was the original plan. After the Council and the forming of a Fellowship."  
"Lovely. I've always wanted to see a Traction City. G'night."  
And Tom slumped over, fast asleep.


End file.
